


History

by exquisitelymorose



Category: Ocean's (Movies), Oceans 8 (2018), oceans 8, oceans eight
Genre: Angst, F/F, Queer Dumpster Fire, Question Mark Cause IDK, They're So Gay Though, getting back together?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitelymorose/pseuds/exquisitelymorose
Summary: “But Lou knows that she’d spend a lifetime listening to Debbie apologize if she would. She’s already forgiven her, God, she forgives her before she even does anything but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t caused Lou enough pain that on bitter, drunken evenings, she doesn’t think she should start every morning with a pre-emptive apology from Debbie Ocean.”A story in which we see a more realistic, hesitant approach to Deb and Lou finding each other again, during the heist, after a history of too much pain and a little betrayal.





	1. Chapter 1

Lou’s smoking a cigarette and God, Debbie fucking hates that. But she knows that she’s in no position to complain. You can’t ask a person to risk their life over and over for decades and then turn around and ask them not to do it to themselves. It’s not a good look. And that’s what they appreciate most about each other anyways, no rules, no conditions, no complaints. Their line of work makes it difficult to sustain “normal” relationships and they have no desire to be a Tammy. To lie and steal and fill back rooms and garages all in the name of normalcy and “protecting” a partner who doesn’t know any better. They do know better. So she doesn’t say anything.

“I can feel you disapproving, Ocean.” 

“Hmm.” It’s a small sound that comes from between Debbie’s pursed lips. No, she won’t complain. She won’t lie either. 

Lou is on the roof of the loft, looking out over the “stars” that really are nothing more than distant city lights, maybe some smog playing a trick on the eyes. But she enjoys it nonetheless. Debbie remembers this from all the years of quiet nights spent together. Lou is loud and obnoxious, there’s no arguing that, but she seeks quietness, solace in these small moments, from the insanity of the lives they’ve crafted. She’d told Debbie one night, years ago, after too much vodka, that that’s why she liked Debbie so much. She was a constant calm, even tempered, spoke in a soothing, self-assured way that had always eased her. “Tranquility wrapped in a sexy body,” she’d slurred. And Debbie never forgot that. 

“You’ll kill me before this ever does.” Lou threw a wink over her shoulder, never one to quite back down and give into her partners whims without a small protest but Debbie notices that the cigarette isn’t even half smoked as she ashes it. 

The brunette just smiles, small and content, sidling up to her partner. She’s not exactly in the mood for witty banter. They’re two days from the Gala and there’s a nervousness that she’ll never admit to, lying low in her belly. It clouds her brain and stunts her words so no, conversation isn’t her strong suit right now but she needs this. She needs to be close to someone that understands her, who won’t press her for reassurance or guidance, someone to just exist next to. And Lou has always been that person. Her own “tranquility wrapped in a sexy body.” It’s not lost on Debbie, not at all, how lucky they are to have found each other. How insanely charmed their partnership is. A once in a lifetime person, she knows that. 

They both stand, an inch apart, pleased just to have a moment of silence away from everyone else. Lou notices Debbie take a deep breath and watches her release it back into the night and knows she’s breathing through this. She’s feeling just as nervous as they’re all pretending not to. And there’s nothing she can do about it. She hates that. But it won’t go away for any of them until the heist is over and even then, it will linger for years. Every odd look in the street, every unknown number and piece of mail will pull a sharp fear out of them. But that’s their choice. So Lou say’s the only thing she can to give even a small amount of comfort.

“I’m not upset with you, you know?” 

Debbie doesn’t flinch but she’s surprised to hear it and just nods, a small movement, her eyes staying on the “stars.” A moment passes before she speaks and Lou is looking away, assuming that Debbie isn’t going to say anything, “But you were.”

Now it’s her turn to nod, “damn straight.” 

“I should have talked to you first.”

Lou can’t help the bitter sound that escapes her throat but she swallows her words before they can come out. Her partner has already said all she needs to say, apologized and explained, and really, they don’t need to do this right now. But Lou knows that she’d spend a lifetime listening to Debbie apologize if she would. She’s already forgiven her, God, she forgives her before she even does anything but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t caused Lou enough pain that on bitter, drunken evenings, she doesn’t think she should start every morning with a pre-emptive apology from Debbie Ocean. 

“Yes, you should have. But it’s water under the bridge, Jail Bird.” 

“You shouldn’t have had to find out like everyone else. You should always be in the know.”

And while it could easily be written off as an apology between business partners, like they've decided to change printing services, Lou knows she’s admitting more than that. She angles her body towards the other woman and Debbie gives her a glance over her nose, knowing and apologetic before she turns and faces her.

Lou decides that this is as good a time as any for honesty, “Sometimes my ego needs a check and you gave me that.” She says with a small smirk but sighs and continues, “I was embarrassed, Deb. Those girls look to me too. They see me as your partner and I hated having them think that I didn’t know my own job.” Debbie’s stomach knots at the small sadness in Lou’s voice but she knows that mostly, she’s over it. She just wants her to know. 

“They never thought that.” Silence passes between them, “you know they see you as my equal-”

“Yeah, well they think a lot of things that aren’t true.” 

The quick jab hits Debbie low and hard. It’s vague, like all things between the two of them are, but she knows exactly what she means. The whispers, the questions, the late night explanations by Tammy to Rose and Constance that no, it’s not _totally_ like that between Debbie and Lou. The insistence by everyone that it has to be because they can feel it, the looks, the touches, the tension, it’s… easy between them. And Lou resents that, with every fibre of her being, she resents that. Because it’s not easy between them. It has been years, decades, of messy, terrible shit between the two of them. Anything but easy. And the fact that they can’t outrun themselves and this thing between them? It’s been enough to send Lou to the bottom of a couple dozen vodka bottles.

There is love and there is forgiveness. There is so much between them that keeps them in this thing together but there is a history there and history doesn’t undo itself over night. Jail time and jealousy and major betrayals and unsaid feelings and disregarded feelings, that’s not solved by one successful heist. And of course it seems easy between them, what other choice do they have? If they teeter out of that territory, they’d be forced to dip into conversations they don’t know how to have and evenings together that mean more than they did when they were 28 and had nothing else. And fuck, Lou does not love Debbie more, does not lust after her harder. That’s a shared, unspoken thing and Debbie thinks she might hate those remorseful, sympathetic whispers about Lou more than Lou actually does because it means that somehow she’s better at all this. That Lou can show that side of herself in small, nearly meaningless ways and still not come to her bed at night.

What those people don’t understand is that love isn’t always enough. That shared glances of longing don’t replace the pit in your stomach that tells you the person you’re with might leave you for a man whose heist is just too good to pass up. A lingering hand on the back doesn’t push aside the idea that if you make one more mistake, she’ll be gone, in the desert on her bike, without a phone to call. Spending one evening together in bed doesn’t undo 5 years of nights spent alone because one of you was too wrapped up in their own world to consider the other. Loving each other, sure that’s easy. Inevitable. But being together? No. That’s not the same. 

Debbie doesn’t know where to go from there. She’s thought, for the last eight years, that they weren’t going to open this door. They would be the partners that they needed but when the jobs ended, they’d go back to empty homes or Claude Becker’s or women who were just busy enough not to notice the bullshit but still funny enough, comfortable enough to spend some time with. That’s their plan, they’ve never said it, but Debbie is sure of it. And that’s the one thing she knows she’s good at it, sticking to the plan. But this? She has proved time and time again that she is not good at this. 

“Lou-“

“It’s fine,” she sighs, throwing her hands up a little and facing back to the night, “it’s fine.”

And then its Debbie’s turn to sigh, “I don’t know how to make this anything more than fine, Lou.”

They’re both facing the night again, an inch apart, as if nothing had happened. Lou shakes her head a little and hesitantly puts her hand over Deb’s on the ledge, “Me either, kid. Me either.”


	2. Chapter Two

When Debbie knocks on her door, Lou is sat on her bed reading. It’s one of those things that may come as a shock to others but not to Debbie. Her partner has always loved those trivial escapes. Books, music, films. And she knows well enough not to tease her about it. That it’s a leftover security blanket from her broken childhood where she was often left alone in her bed, a lonely little girl trying to find an imaginary world away from the yelling just outside her door. So she doesn’t say shit. Never lifts an eyebrow and says “Withering Heights, really?” to the blonde whose interests you could easily mistake as only being bikes, vodka and women. 

They’d come down from the rooftop an hour earlier with no more words exchanged. Just a simple pat of hands and a final, resolute glance that seemed to suggest “even if we wanted to, we can’t do this right now.” It seems that since then, Lou had settled in for the night and Debbie lets the view wash over her. Decides that if nothing else, she’ll allow herself this moment. Neither of them has ever been good at vulnerability, showing the outside world their inner selves. But they’d broken down those walls years ago. Feels like centuries. Back when they were the only people they had and having at least one person who knew the ins and outs, the difficult and the ugly too, was the only way they’d survive.

Debbie had been nervous in an unconscious, “can’t think about this too hard” sort of way that maybe they’d lost that? That while she was in prison, Lou would have started to reassemble the bricks of the walls she’d worked so hard to take apart, one by one. Not an explosive shattering that had happened early or easily. No, years and years of reaching out and painstakingly removing one brick at a time. But here she is, closing the door to Lou’s bedroom behind her and she’s not telling her to get out or even glancing up from her book, not really. 

She wants to tell her that she looks beautiful like this. Her face is bare and Debbie always finds it shocking how much that changes her. Without the black liner, her eyes seem wider, more open in a way that would make her appear almost innocent. Almost. If you didn’t know her. Her skin is fair and nearly flawless, save for the lines that have started to appear. Her blonde hair is tied into the tiniest knot at the base of her skull, bangs parted, resting over her glasses. And fuck, those glasses. Something about the sight of Lou in glasses, maybe the fact that Debbie knew no one else ever saw her in them because they made her feel old, always sent a surge low through her belly, between her legs. Lou is sexy, the all know that. But just like this, in a large grey shirt with a faded white logo and long, bare legs, no mask against the world, she is just so goddamn beautiful. 

But she’s lost the words to tell her that. Those are the bricks in their walls that at times they seem to chip away at but never quite remove and some days, they’re stronger than others, more unwilling to budge. They don’t know how to do much else than half jokingly whistle their appreciation of tight dresses or leather pants or tap each other’s bottoms with a quick “is this all for me, baby?” They’re good at that. But to sit next to her on the bed, put a hand to her bare face and say “you’re so beautiful that at times it makes me ache” that’s not something either of them know how to do. So instead Debbie just looks, trying to commit this sight to memory until Lou finally glances over her black frames and quirks an eyebrow. 

“Here for your bedtime story?” 

“Hardy har.”

Lou is flipping the book over carefully, placing it face down next to her, when Debbie realizes that she’s forgotten why she’s there. Really, she had a reason. But then Lou was there, on the bed, looking like she does and it went out of her head. She notices that Lou is giving her a curious look, one eyebrow peeking above the thick black frame of her glasses.

“Having a senior’s moment, Deborah?”

And Debbie has to shake her head with a small laugh, “I am actually.”

“You’ll remember.” She reaches over to her nightstand and takes a sip from her mug. The brunette knows in an instant that its mint tea, a small splash of milk. “I had something I wanted to show you anyways, come here.”

Debbie makes her way to the other side of the bed and settles herself against the pillows while Lou scrolls through her phone, looking for something. She revels in these moments. Where its casual, relaxed, but they have a reason to be together so it’s comfortable, no lingering question of “why are you here and what do you need?”

“Ah, yes, look.” Lou says, a wicked smile spreading over her face as she passes the phone to her partner. On the screen is a photo of a child’s submarine toy and she knows exactly what it’s for. They both start to chuckle and find themselves dissolving into a fit of laughter. They laugh harder than they should but that’s what happens when you finally get to break the tension in the moments where nerves are rampant and pressure is high. 

As the laughter starts to subside, Debbie can’t help her eyes from glancing to where Lou’s shirt has ridden up, red underwear barely peeking out. She swallows hard. There’s a lot between them that is difficult and fucking painful. But this is the thing that always makes her want to scream, to ask Lou how she’s supposed to forget what it’s like to have her underneath her, bare and raw, coming apart. Hers. She doesn’t though. She knows it’s not her fault, not either of theirs, that they decided not to cross that line anymore. It just hurts too much. So instead she tears her eyes away from that part of her partner, this piece of her that she’s not privy to anymore and wonders why it’s so much easier just to fuck a stranger. 

She forces herself to say something, just to have the moment pass, “what do you plan to do after?’

Lou turns her head a little quickly, like she’s surprised that Debbie’s asking, “I don’t really know. Take a trip, of course. After that? Well, that’s between me and the moon, baby.”

“Only you would get a cool 18 mil and plan to spend it on gasoline, Lou.”

“You have a better suggestion?”

“As if you’d take it.”

They both chuckle, small and low.

“What about you, Deb?” 

Lou’s arms slings behind the pillows as she shifts onto her hip to fully take in her partner. There’s a second, as her hand seems to hesitate and Debbie thinks it might dip into her hair but it doesn’t, just settles inches behind her. They both try not to feel disappointed. 

“I’ve been a little too distracted to really think about it.”

Lou scoffs, “Five years, eight months and twelve days and you couldn’t come up with a couple bullet points, Ocean?”

She smirks, “I guess a few.”

Lou looks at her expectantly but nothing comes, “woman of mystery.”

“Par for the course.”

The lapse into a companionable silence as Debbie runs a finger down the spine of Lou’s book. She wants to ask about it, just to have a reason to continue talking but she already knows. Knows that it’s been Lou’s favourite since she was forced to read it in high school and pretended that she hated it, refusing to do her assigned reading in class while she simultaneously ran herself ragged, staying up until all hours of the morning just to devour it. She could never let the other kids know that. She’d never live it down. In those days, smart wasn’t cool. You had to have a “fuck you” attitude towards the teachers, smoke on your breaks, sneak alcohol into pep rallies, just to kind of fit in with the kids who would make sure your ass never got kicked. Something that she put up with enough at home. Now, she re-reads it once a year. Debbie knows all of that. And so much more. 

She’s startled from her thoughts but not completely stunned by the words when Lou speaks. They’d shaved a small piece of ice from a mountainous iceberg on that rooftop just an hour earlier and she’d felt it in the air that things were shifting. No, they couldn’t dive in right now. But they weren’t entirely pulling their toes from the shallow end either.

“Are we going to lose you again?” 

Lou’s not looking at her, her eyes are trained on where her partners hand rests over her book and her voice isn’t entirely weak or small. But it breaks Debbie’s heart all the same. She knows what she’s really asking her is, “Am _I_ going to lose you again?” And she’s desperate to tell her that she never lost her. She never left because she wanted to. But that’s not exactly true. And if Lou had taught her anything in recent years, it’s that she has to consider her effect on others. She didn’t get to decide that Lou hadn’t felt hurt or abandoned just because she never meant to hurt or abandon. 

“No.”

It’s all she can say.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support and comments, you are so incredibly kind. My plan was never to do a consistent timeline like this, I was going to just kind of jump from day to day, to important moments. But I'm really enjoying writing these kind of "nothing" moments so I hope they're not really boring. Let me know what you want to see from these two and what would be your ideal direction for this story to go.

Lou senses the light behind her eyes before they’re even open. Then the tingling in her arm, limp and heavy. She’s cracking an eye, just one, indignant against the harsh morning light when she realizes that it’s not the morning and there is no sun. It’s closer to 2am and the light is emanating from the bedside tables, seeming somehow brighter than usual against her hazy, sleepy gaze. Secondly, she notices Debbie and thinks that must be a first. Debbie's always the first thing she sees. Her partner is lying flat on her back, chin dropped away from her, neck long and exposed. Lou is having that “1000 thoughts at once” rush that comes with being reintroduced to the world but somewhere in those thoughts, is just how gorgeous and serene the brunette looks. Larger and more prominent in those thoughts, is that Deb’s head is resting over Lou’s palm and wrist, her entire arm dead asleep. 

She’s curled up on her left side, arm across Debbie's pillow like it had been when they were talking. Things had fallen silent a few hours earlier and with Deb making no moves to leave, Lou had passed her her laptop to review some notes they’d made earlier and picked her book back up. The dark screened laptop next to Deb, the open book with a bent corner between them and the lights told her what she already knew- they’d fallen asleep.

Lou feels that sweep of emotion. Affection, disappointment, mostly nostalgia. There’d been a time, a short time, long ago, where they’d shared a bed. And Lou can almost smell that disgusting vanilla bean candle that Deb had insisted on keeping on their nightstand. She can almost hear the neighbours they’d had, blasting old Jamaican music through their walls. And if she squints hard enough that the lines by Debbie eyes blur into the rest of her smooth features, she can almost convince herself that the woman next to her is the same girl she used to be. But she’s not. And Lou isn’t the same either. And thank God for that because they were young and reckless in ways that they scoff at now. But also fuck that because those girls knew something about taking risks in ways that age and experience makes harder, much, much harder. 

She sighs at the beauty before her and the pain in her hand. Lou makes a slight move, barely a flinch, to wriggle her hand out from under the heavy head of her partner. It sends pins and needles shooting up her arm but when Debbie’s eyelids don’t so much as flutter she keeps pulling until her hand is free. She opens and closes her fist over and over, hating the feeling and sighs, “a pain in my ass even when you’re asleep” she thinks. Debbie is breathing quietly and evenly, hands folded neatly over her stomach. It’s a sight to see and Lou allows herself to stare, one arm propped up on her pillow. She feels something crack in her chest and knows her heart is breaking just a little bit. 

Debbie was raised by cons and criminals. She came by her life honestly and because of that, she was tough, she was incredibly intelligent and she could take care of herself completely. But there’s something to be said about coming up in a family like that- the built in support system. Always someone to count on, a person who will protect you and a reason to feel that you’re safe. But then there was prison and then there was Danny dying and Debbie lost that. Her safety net was pulled from under her and Lou can’t help that overwhelming need to pull her into her lap and tell her that even now, she’s safe and she’s protected. She can’t because Debbie would never admit to wanting or needing help and she certainly wouldn’t take kindly to being put into a lap that she hadn’t seated herself in. So instead, Lou drops a kiss to her hairline and tries to ignore the smell of her that could still send her to her knees. She pulls back but gives in to the desire to plant her lips once more, firmly to Debbie's temple. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” she whispers into the still air of the room, gently reaching across her partner to click the lamp off before rolling to her side, snapping that light off and closing her eyes once again. 

When Lou cracks her eyes to the sound of creaking a few hours later, she see’s Debbie trying to slip through the door. Lou thought that this was okay, that even if they’d woken face to face they would have just said grumbly good mornings and rolled over to make coffee. But something about the quiet way that Debbie is trying to get out of the room makes Lou feel like she doesn’t want to acknowledge that she’d been there, that maybe she’s just trying to avoid conversation, like waking up with a one night stand whose not so cute in the day light. She won’t allow it.

“I’ll take my coffee black and my eggs sunny side up darling,” She calls to Debbie. 

Her partner has her back to her but she stops and spins slowly on her heel, a rich smile and sleepy eyes, “what have you ever done to deserve breakfast in bed?” 

“You’re going to spend a night in my bed, sleep with me and then try to run out on me with no breakfast? What kind of gentleman are you?” Debbie is shaking her head, smirking at Lou as she finishes, “I’m a lady who deserves more than that, Deborah, really. Shame.” 

They both laugh, “fuck you.” 

—

The thing about a heist is that in the days leading up, if you’ve done your job right, theres really not a whole lot to do. Everything’s been put in place, everyone knows their job. The most they can all do now is sit and wait. It’s one night until the Met Gala and everyone is out of the warehouse loft, visiting friends, buying meals with their _own_ money. Enjoying a day of guilt free pleasures because though no one cares to admit it, they’re all a little worried that in a days time, they’ll be escorted and separated into their respective jail cells. 

When Debbie descends the stairs into the quiet of the lower level, she sees Lou in an arm chair, steaming mug of coffee in her hand. It never ceases to amaze her, they way that Lou takes up space. She’s all long, thin limbs and alluring angles but she folds herself into a chair like it was crafted for her. She notices that she’s reviewing a list of jewels they’d been pouring over for days and days and has to roll her eyes. Of course while everyone is out enjoying their lives, Lou is quizzing herself on a paper that she knows backward and forward, probably better than any of them. That’s why she’s her partner. 

“Why don’t you put the paper down, Lou?” Debbie is standing before her now, hands on her hips. 

The blondes eyes flick up and she sees her partner there, hands on her hips, a mock stern look adorning her face. 

“Just trying to impress my partner.”

She reaches forward, just past Debbie and drops the paper to the coffee table behind her. Then, she holds the mug out to Debbie who takes it appreciatively and walks herself back a few feet to fall into Nine Balls bean bag chair, careful not to spill. 

“Think we should get out and do something?”

“Rob a department store? Break into a hotel room thats not ours? Pick pocket business men in Central Park? Pick your poison, Ocean.”

“Nah, I was thinking something a little more relaxed. You know, like we used to?”

Lou raises an eyebrow. Debbie is staring, unrelenting, with pursed lips and mischievous eyes. 

“Really?”

Debbie shrugs, “why not?”

“I haven’t done that since your ass got locked up.”

“No time like the present.”

“I’ll kick your ass, you know.”

“Prove it.”

They both smile wickedly at each other. Debbie takes a long sip of coffee and passes it back to Lou. She takes a long swallow before settling it onto the coffee table and unfolding her long legs to stand. When Lou reaches a hand out to Debbie, she clasps it and allows her to pull her to her feet. They’re just an inch apart and Lou claps her hands loudly against Debbie's hips, 

“Then bowling it is!”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diving a little bit into my idea of these two's history with this chapter. Let me know what you think? It's so appreciated.

If someone told you there was a game that Lou and Debbie enjoyed playing together, you may have a few guesses. A cunning round of black jack, a whiskey sipping go at the pool table, maybe even a few throws at the dart board. What one might not suspect is that the two of them fucking love bowling. But they have their reasons. 

In the late 90’s, Lous father died. It wasn’t a completely sad affair. He’d been an asshole that Lou had spent most of her adult life trying to forget and when he did finally die, she had the easy excuse that it was just too expensive to get to Australia right now, fully knowing that no one in her family would have the money or the generosity to offer to fly her home. So that was that, he was dead and life was going on. 

Debbie tried, sat her down on quiet nights to ask her questions, offered to have a small memorial of their own, even said she could have Danny spot her the cash for Lou’s plane ticket home. But they both knew it was never about the money. And what more could Debbie expect? She didn’t know everything back then. It all come out over years, still to this day, Lou occasionally and calmly told her stories she’d never heard about her childhood, things that could make a grown man weep. She just couldn’t bring herself to honour a man that had never wanted and never tried to be a father. There was nothing more for either of them to say on the matter. 

That didn’t mean that things didn’t get tough for her. Death is like that. It shines a light into the dark corners you’ve been avoiding, pulls the curtains aside and says “look, look at this, all of this.” And one night Debbie came home to find Lou at the bottom of a vodka bottle, black kohl liner down her cheeks. On the couch next to her was a picture of a small blonde child, a full cheeked little girl sat on the couch next to a man with a beer bottle firmly clutched in his fist. She was looking somewhere beyond the camera, a full smile on her cherub face. His look was distant, looking somewhere off to the side. 

Debbie had picked up the photo gently before folding herself into the corner of the couch opposite her beautiful, blonde, broken partner. She didn’t want to smile as Lou tried not to cry but this little girl in the photo, this tiny version of Lou was just so heartbreakingly adorable and innocent, she wanted to smile and cry at the same time. Debbie didn’t want to be the first to break the silence. She’d tried for the last month and Lou’d wanted no part of it. She was scared to push her too far, ask her to talk about things that she wasn’t ready to so she didn’t say anything at all until Lou broke the silence, her voice deep and thick with tears.

“I look like him.”

Debbie ran a finger over his large, fair features. He wasn’t looking at the camera but even then, it was easy to tell that Lou was right, they had the same eyes, similar lips.

“You do.”

She could hear her partner swallow as she reached to the coffee table for the nearly empty bottle, “it fucking pisses me off.”

Debbie’s tongue clicked almost noiselessly, her chest filling with sympathy, guilt, anger, love. “Don’t say that."

“Why?” She didn’t look to her, just swallowed long and hard. “I don’t want to see him when I look in the mirror, Deb.”

Debbie shifted so she was right next to Lou, hip to hip, and reached a hand to cup her chin, “Look at me.”

When the blue eyes met her gaze, her heart shattered in her chest. People like Lou, people who speak up for others, who step in the way of fists so someone else won’t feel it, people who put their heels into the crotch of men who dare to raise their voices at women. The woman who held her when her brother betrayed her and stayed on the phone, for hours, with friends who just needed someone to talk to —- she did not deserve to be broken by another person. Especially by the ghosts of her past. The little girl in this photo didn’t deserve what had happened to her, no child did. But especially not Debbie Oceans girl. 

“Lou,” she ran a thumb over her partners bottom lip, “I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and want to put your fist through the glass because all you can see is your fucking family. But,” she takes a breath, “I’ll be here everyday to remind you what I see.”

“What’s that?”

“Strength. And beauty, God, you’re so beautiful. I see my partner. Lou fucking Miller. Not her dad.”

They’d been together that year. Never really talked about it, certainly never put a label on it. But at some point, months before that, they’d stopped seeing other people. They shopped around for a one bedroom apartment and one mattress. They put their clothes in the same closet and came home to each other every night. But still, these moments had been rare. 

Lou had laughed, small and insincere. Just a sound she could make to fill the silence, “did it cause you physical pain to say that?”

“No,” Debbie’d said with a small smile and in a moment of genuine transparency brought on by her partners tear stained cheeks, “but it hurts me to see you like this.”

Her hand had still been on Lou’s cheek, thumb brushing across the streaks of left over eyeliner when she’d finally closed the small gap. It was slow, painfully so, and Lou had tasted like cheap vodka and expensive cigars. She’d fit Debbie’s lower lip between her two gently, barely moving against each other. Her hand, covered in junky rings, came to the back of Debbie's head, cradling it softly, fingers working between the brunette strands. They’d kissed a hundred times over but it had always been heated, passionate, often drunk. They were getting better at good morning, good night, good bye kisses. You know, regular person, functional relationship type of shit. But this was different. Debbie had pulled away and pressed a kiss to Lou’s chin, her forehead, and her puffy eyelids. She settled her hand against Lou’s chest, over the fabric of her thin shirt and felt her take a shaky breath.

“I know this hurts you, I’m sorry.”

“What? Lou, no.” Debbie shook her head and wrapped an arm around Lou’s shoulders, “don’t even say that.”

They’d both fallen back against the plush cushions of their couch. Debbie’s feet were pulled up under her and Lou was settled between the arm rest and her partner, forehead resting against her neck, cheek to Debbie’s shoulder. 

“Deb?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m going sober tomorrow.”

“Ok babe.”

It hadn’t been a shock. Lou had always had a problematic relationship with substances. Not that she abused them or relied on them but she’d never trusted herself. She’d had to watch everything around her crack and crumble because of her fathers empty bottles and her mothers scattered pill containers. And while she never said it, Debbie knew that Lou felt intensely guilty when she drank too much or watched her friends snort a line in the bathroom bar. It was never really a problem. But Debbie knew why Lou had to do it. She needed a break, to get away from everything that reminded her of her father. And since she couldn’t outrun herself, she’d have to choose the next best thing. The bottle.

The next morning when Debbie reached an arm across to find Lou’s side of the bed empty, she’d gotten up immediately. They’d gone to bed calmly. Lou had sat on their bathroom counter and allowed Debbie to wipe the makeup from her face, run a brush through her hair and change her into her comfortable clothes. She’d expected to wake up to Lou nursing a headache from the vodka and the tears and when she wasn’t in bed, it sent a small jolt of panic through Debbie. She got up and padded down the hallway to the kitchen where she thought she could hear something. She paused in the doorway. Lou was stood in plain black underwear, a hot neon pink crop top, bleach blonde hair sticking out at odd angles, glasses just barely hanging on the tip of her nose. Her blue eyes were watching intently as the vodka from what had been an empty, unopened bottle ‘glug glugged’ into the sink and down the drain.

“Now thats alcohol abuse,” Debbie called sleepily from the hallway and smiled, a small smile when Lou met her eyes. She looked a little worse for wear but she smiled nonetheless and said nothing. Debbie made her way from the hallway and behind Lou, dropping a small kiss to her shoulder blade before turning to the coffee maker. When Lou’d rinsed the bottle, she set it next to one she’d already emptied and moved to sit on their island stool. Debbie noticed two wine bottles sat on the shelf that doubled as a bar. They were her bottles. Lou never drank wine unless Debbie conned her into a small glass over dinner.

“The wine bottles too,” she said as she scooped coffee grounds into the small basket.

“What?” Lou asked, shaking herself from her thoughts, “oh Debbie, no. It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she said, not bothering to turn from her task, “wine bottles too.” She repeated.

She could hear Lou pushing back from the stool but turned around to find her stalled, a finger drumming against the counter top, looking to the bottles apprehensively. 

“Now.” Debbie said finally, sternly. Lou looked up with a grateful smile and walked toward the bottles. 

Debbie knew she’d never ask. She’d never even give her so much as a glance if she’d shown up wasted while Lou decided to be sober. But she was going to do this with her. That was her girl. 

And that night, when their phone had rang and someone on the other end was drunkenly calling to them to come to this bar or that party spot, Debbie couldn’t mistake the disappointment on Lou’s face. When they’d hung up the blonde had dismissed herself to take a shower and Debbie had gone out to their balcony to survey the street. They’d moved on to a side street, away from the busyness of the core of the city but still there were things to do. She looked from end to end and saw bars, pubs, a few restaurants. Only one thing stood out. One place they could go and do something, anything that wouldn’t tempt them into a quick shot or a small drink. 

When the shower was silent, Debbie found Lou changing in their bedroom.

“Do you want to go bowling?”

“Huh?” Lou asked, whipping around quickly, half in and half out of her shirt.

“Bowling.”

“Yeah, I heard you. Why?”

“Something to do.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Hell, alright.” 

Debbie had kicked Lou’s ass something fierce that night. And if she hadn’t kissed her, long and hard, unashamed, hands firmly planted over her leather clad ass every time she’d knocked even one pin down (which hadn’t been often) then she would have accused her of rigging the bowling alleys system or something. The loss lit Lou’s competitive streak on fire and Debbie had to admit, there were few things she’d rather see more than her partner bent over, concentrated and then hips swaying toward her cockily every time her shot improved. So this place became their place. Every time they got invited out for a night of drinking, every time that Debbie caught Lou sneaking glances at her one childhood photo, they went to that beat up alley down the street. They never invited anyone else and they always shared one order of thick cut fries, heavily sprinkled with seasoning salt. Lou had joked that one day if they’d ever got married, the’d have to do it in that alley. 

After 3 months of sobriety, 3 months of working through old shit and trying to get past that feeling of needing to escape a man who was already dead, Lou felt like she’d accomplished something. She proved to herself that she could do it. That her life had not been broken by alcohol before and she would never allow it to be. It just wasn’t like that for her and it didn’t have to be just because it had been for her old man. She was okay. So she’d stopped on her way home from “work” one afternoon and grabbed that expensive wine shit that Debbie liked and gone home to her partner. After double checking and then triple checking that Lou felt okay, Debbie had poured the wine. They’d spent the rest of the evening polishing it off in the bathtub where Debbie lay with her back to Lou’s chest, her fingers making designs over her wet knees. And when the phone rang a few days later to see if they wanted to get wasted in Bushwick, they went. But still, every Sunday, they went bowling. 

Nearly a year later, when Debbie stood in the doorway, screaming her apologizes, begging Lou to stop packing, she thought about bowling. She thought about Lou wrapping her arms around her hips and spinning her around after a strike. She thought about Lou kissing the tip of her nose as she insisted that yes, she was going to beat her ass this time. She thought about that young teenage punk who always gave them their shoes that Lou had nearly clocked for checking out Debbie too many times, she thought about how Lou and that kid were kind of friends now because he respected her and she understood that at least they had that attraction to Debbie in common. She thought about Sunday evenings and every evening and how empty everything was going to be now. How fucking terribly she had completely fucked everything up. And as Lou had choked back tears, shoving a shirt that Debbie knew was actually hers into her duffle bag, saying “I just can’t fucking do this anymore” Debbie thought she might just have to set that bowling alley on fucking fire.

Two years later, when they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other, Danny had a job that he needed Debbie for and he asked her to call Lou. There was a small aspect of the job that required her expertise. Debbie had said no, outright refused. Danny told her that if she didn’t, he would. She couldn’t let that happen. Lou would do almost anything for Danny but the second she realized that three of them would be running the job together and Debbie didn’t have the balls to call herself, she’d never forgive her. So she called the familiar number and rolled her eyes, “how can a con go 5 years without changing her number, gotta be a safety hazard.” When Lou’d answered, Debbie had expected surprise, shock, anger, maybe a quick “fuck you.” But Lou had sounded cool, inviting even as “Ocean?” Passed through her lips. And Debbie's whole stomach rolled with guilt and disappointment as she realized that of course Lou was going to be like this and of course she had to be. They were criminals before they were lovers and criminals they would remain.

As they transitioned from slightly awkward accomplices who happened to be exes, to friends, back to business partners and best friends, it was unspoken that they’d never cross that bridge again. It had fucked them the first time and they’d had to go two years running petty jobs because romantically, they just couldn’t work and they let that fuck everything up. They weren’t going to do that again. They needed each other to make this life work. But even when they’d gotten to that point where they were seeing each other outside of jobs, going for dinner, checking out museums or just going for a walk to talk simple ideas, neither of them ever mentioned bowling. 

Not until today.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time I went hard on this fic and then said, “meh fuck it” for a solid minute. That’s gay culture for ya. But I’m back. En-fucking-joy.

They’re not going _there_ , that’s all Debbie knows as she swipes a manicured nail over the screen, surveying a list of the nearest bowling alleys. It’d be too far anyway. Their old place is nowhere near the loft and Debbie is thankful for that. She’d gotten out of those walls, their bed, their kitchen, their shower- she’d escaped it all only two weeks after Lou’d left. Then she’d avoided it completely. Even after things were fine between the two of them, she steered clear of the street. It felt natural by that point. And she didn’t want to jinx the moderately okay, “partners in crime and everything else that isn’t romance,” thing they had going. There was a weird sort of emotional risk in getting too close to what had been. It was easy at times to re-write that part of history, to pretend that she and Lou were not _like that_. But if she saw it, the steps they’d helped each other stumble up, the doorway they’d groped and found each other’s lips, the window that Lou liked to stand in, Debbie’s arms wrapped around her middle, there would be no pretending. 

And that bowling alley, where they’d joked about marriage and made bad puns and laughed to heal Lou’s heart, well, Debbie doesn’t even want to think too hard about what things might feel like there. So she chooses a place called “Splits Happen” because she thinks Lou will probably like the name and yes, it looks a little hipster and probably kind of young but Debbie knows that means one good thing – decent cocktails. They’ll need them. 

When Lou emerges from her bedroom, hand shoved down the front of her leather pants to tuck in her button down, Debbie doesn’t even try to hide her sweeping look. Jesus Christ, Miller.

“Someone you need to impress tonight?”

“Only you, baby.”

“You know you don’t need to try that hard.”

“Hah,” Lou chuckles, “well maybe it’s not all for you. Never know when you’ll meet your prince in shining bowling shoes. 

They both know it’s odd, the way they interact. It’s why it never surprises them when people make assumptions because really, they’re asking for it. But it’s just the way it is between them. They both tell themselves it doesn’t mean much. 

Debbie isn’t used to this shit. The Ubers and the Uber eats and the post notes? Post its? Something like that. So they walk a few blocks, reviewing details they already know and getting lost in memories of a younger Tammy, wondering how the hell she turned into a criminal Stepford Wife, as they try to wave down a cab. Lou’s holding the door open for Debbie, as she slides into the back, breathing the name of the alley to the man up front. 

The blondes eyebrows shoot up as she laughs, “you know how to pick em’ Deb.”

Just the sign outside tells Debbie everything she needs to know about her suspicions. Hipster, yes. Young, yes. But it will do. They don’t say much as they walk in together. Suddenly, it feels as if it would be very easy to misstep. For one of them to say or do the wrong thing, sending the other down the sidewalk in impractical shoes. Wouldn’t be the first time. So they silently take in the entrance, the dark colours and swirling lights and make their way towards the shoe rentals. If they’re being serious, they both have to admit that there was a certain indifference toward this when they were younger. Now they’re older with a hell of a lot more money and standards, shoving their feet into worn out shoes worn by hundreds of strangers…? They’re less than thrilled. But they do it in relative silence with only the occasional shared glance of disgust. 

Lou wanders toward the bar to get them a drink. She doesn’t ask Debbie what she wants and for some reason, it sends warmth through every part of the brunette. She knows Lou will come back with something she didn’t even know she wanted, something she’ll inevitably love. Will anyone else ever know her like that? Will they care to try. She chooses a lane and scribbles down two names on the paper passed to her by a bored teen snapping her gum.

As she makes her way down the long, carpeted walk of alleys, she notices Lou coming toward her. How is it the women can have Debbie’s purse shoved under her arm, two drinks in her hand and still look effortless, like the liquid in the glass is too intimidated to threaten a spill. The glasses are mismatched, one is tall, thin and frosted, the other is short and rounded, with a something thin and green poking from the top. Debbie nods her head toward their alley and they meet at the cold, hard plastic chairs. Without a word, she hands Debbie the tall and thin glass. But as she sips, the taste hits her. Vodka. Her eyebrow shoots up as she takes in Lou, smirking, hand on hip.

“Don’t think I don’t know you, Ocean,” she says with an eye roll as she hands Debbie the shorter glass, grabbing the tall one back for herself. She takes it from her hand, fingers brushing together and takes a sip. Tequila. 

“You trying to get me naked?”

“Am I ever not?”

Just as they begin to smirk, that eye locking, all knowing look, their screen lights up. Lou glances over just in time to see two names appear. Jade & Felicity. Lou’s head snaps around, her mouth a perfect ‘O’, eyes shining. 

“You didn’t.”

“Mhm.”

“Jade and Felicity?” Lou can barely get the names out before she’s overtaken by a sharp laugh. 

She hadn’t thought of those names in ages. It had been god, what? 7 years ago? They’d cased this fundraiser perfectly, knew every angle, exactly who they needed to be and where they had to go. Or so they thought. But a miscalculation by a girl they’d chucked from their team a few hours later had them in the wrong banquet room at the hotel. It’d taken a few long and confusing minutes but eventually they realized where they were. An LGBTQ+ benefit. Suddenly Jade and Felicity, investment bankers from Australia were Jade and Felicity, wives from the Bronx who’d married on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls 2 years earlier. They hadn’t made any of the money they were supposed to but shit did they have fun. 

As Lou smiles up at the screen, something pulls in Debbie’s chest. She watches the blonde but can’t see what floats through her mind and if she takes these two name, this bowling alley, the whole evening as nothing? Or something heavy with implication. She knows it would be wrong to say she’d gone about this innocently. That she didn’t want in some way to remind Lou of certain things, to see her feel a certain way. She did. But if she gets what she wants out of it, what is she going to do with that?

Debbie sighs as the thoughts tumble in all at once, “what the fuck am I doing?”


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me your kudos and your comments. Give me love like you want these two to give their love to each other.

Tequila pumping through Debbie's veins, leather stretched over Lou’s effortlessly muscled thighs, these are the things that draw the brunettes thoughts from the tense memories of the past to the careless, chaotic, altogether too gorgeous sights of the present. As soon as she’s partially through the second drink that Lou’s handed her, the messy “what am I doing” questions fall away.   
“You’re a liar.” Debbie states loudly as Lou swaggers back from her second strike.

“About what this time, Ocean?”

“You said you hadn’t bowled since me. But that shot shows me everything I need to know, Lou Miller. You joined a bowling league while I was locked up, didn’t you?”

Lou scoffs, her eyes light and playful as she takes a step too close to Debbie, “You think I had time? Besides,” she runs a finger over the ball that Debbie's holding to her chest, patiently waiting her turn, “I’d never cheat on you like that.”

Before Debbie even has a chance to react, the blonde is gone, leaving her in her goddamn charming dust. Debbie's only option, she reasons, is to fucking annihilate her smug partner. So she takes the ball in her two hands, focuses her eyes on the centre pin and takes a quick start. The grin overtakes her entire face as all the ball meets the pins with a loud crack, knocking them all down. But when she turns, her hands raised in victory, Lou’s not even paying attention. She’s got her legs crossed, arms resting over the backs of the two plastic chairs, nodding in the direction of the bowling alley worker behind her. 

When Debbie makes her way within a few feet of Lou, the blonde turns. 

“Sorry to miss your best move, partner.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, I guess they try not to double up the lanes but they’re getting busy so they asked if we’d mind.”

“And?”

“Why would we?” Lou shrugs.

Debbie surveys the rest of the alley and notes the layout. Every small area is equipped with two chairs at a centre console surrounded by cushioned lounges. It should really be two teams per lane but its just quiet enough that they’ve only got one group per. She can’t help the slight disappointment. Casual socialization is never on the top of Debbie's to-do list. And she doesn’t want to have to work her way around another group. Oh, and sure maybe on some level she’d been hoping for a night just the two of them. 

As Lou stands to take her turn, a group of 4 younger women approach. They’re all casually dressed in ripped jeans and beanies, the type of girls you’d think you’d find at a a hipster bowling alley. They apologize as they shuffle in and make themselves comfortable, setting down bags, making drink orders. Mostly, Debbie tries to ignore them. But as Lou comes back from her less than impressive round, she’s saying quick hellos and Debbie can’t help but notice a dark blonde, tanned girl with a lingering look. 

She swallows the feeling, dark and gross, and moves toward the ball stand. Her first ball quickly rears into the gutter and she curses under her breath. She’d been too busy straining to hear the conversation that Lou was having with one of the girls, not paying attention to what she should be doing. The next two balls follow suit and when she turns on her heel, she can’t help the feeling that claws up her chest. 

The scene is inconspicuous. Really, it is. The dark blonde is standing behind the plastic chair that Lou inhabits languidly, seemingly to watch other bowlers but really, just to talk to Lou who has her head turned, a smile on her face. The other girls are more or less paying attention, they’re all kind of contributing to the same conversation but it doesn’t help Debbie to temper that feeling. The one she’s really not good with because she was supposed to be raised without it, a fearless, confident woman with no real doubt or insecurity. But here she is, wanting to tell a twenty something to fuck off for really no good reason at all. 

She tries to take a breath as she approaches the group, going through the mental checklists and exercises she’d formed with her doctor in prison. Yeah, most people don’t know that but Debbie humoured the prison shrink on occasion. She’d never admit she was probably better for it too. And she knows why she feels this way, reasons that if she can identify why, she can nip it in the bud because its completely and totally unfair. There’d been nights in prison when she was cold and alone, literally, that she let her mind take things just a little too far. When you’re cut off from the world and real life, it’s easy. She’d tell herself tens of stories about how life was short and nothing really fucking matters anyway so why shouldn’t she just tell Lou that she thinks they could probably give it another shot. Why shouldn’t they try? They only get a shot at this life once and wouldn’t they rather say they tried than go to their death beds wondering what life would’ve been life if they’d swallowed pain and pride just to fucking see? But then she’d wake up the next morning and remember. Lou had left her. Yes, it’d been Debbie's fault, she knows that. But in the end, Lou had made the choice and she never tried to come back. She swallows. All of it.

“Deb,” Lou starts, taking the brunette from her thoughts, “this is Cass and -“

The other girls finish Lou’s thought for her, giving their names with small waves but Debbie's really only looking at Cass. Young and beautiful, Cass. She used to think about Lou with other women, especially when she got to prison. There was a certain comfort before that, with being in the world, where even if she was going home alone every night, at least she knew Lou was probably at home suspecting the worst just like she was. Suspecting that they were both with other people, completely and totally over one another. When she was in prison, the thought filled her with envy. Because wherever Lou was, whatever she was doing and whoever she was with, she’d know that Debbie was alone. 

“Okay, so if you’re Deb and you’re Lou,” one of the other nameless girls starts, “then who’s Jade and Felicity?”

Collectively the group all looks up to the screen, displaying Deb and Lou’s painfully average scores. 

“Oh,” Lou laughs, “That? That’s-“

“Just a joke.” Deb finishes.

When she looks down to her partner, into her blue eyes, she’s sure there’s a hurt behind them.

Only a few moments later, their game is done. Lou comes out on top and for some reason, she isn’t bragging and that pisses Debbie off. They say goodbye to the group of younger women and there’s nothing, not a prolonged look or a glance over the shoulder, there is nothing between Lou and that girl. She hates herself for thinking so hard about this all. She hates that she is out of prison, finally with her partner and they can’t leave the house without jealousy, hot and angry in her stomach, fighting its way out. She’s even angrier that she has no idea what the fuck to do about it. 

They make their way quietly down the street, no purpose, no idea where they’re going or if they should be calling a cab. Finally Lou sighs and something about it sounds sympathetic but it also kind of sounds annoyed. Debbie looks to her but she doesn’t look back, just speaks.

“Is something wrong?”

Debbie takes a breath and bites the instinct to scream no because yes, but what can she say? “I’m just-“ she trails off, her hands falling lamely at her sides.

“Just what?”

“Tired,” she says finally.

But Lou fully stops and turns toward her, giving her a look that begs, ‘cut the shit.’

Debbie just looks at her defensively, “What! It’s nothing Lou.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That! I know somethings wrong, would you just tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, if you know so much, then what do you think is wrong? You seem to have an idea.”

Lou just shrugs, “I don’t know Debbie. You seemed fine until those girls came along.” It sounds like a challenge.

There’s an alley, dark and secluded right behind them, so Debbie grabs the arm of Lou’s jacket and pulls her into it. She doesn’t really want this conversation to continue but she really doesn’t want to start having it out with people stepping around them.

“I am fine. I just don’t like being around a ton of people, you know that.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t!” Debbie insists, voice a little too high, “I didn’t come out tonight to make friends.”

“You mean, to watch me make friends.”

A silence falls between them as Debbie shakes her head, “whats that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know Deborah, what does it mean?”

“Nothing because thats bullshit.”

“It is,” Lou spits and for the first time, she sounds angry, “It is bullshit.”

Debbie shoves her hands in her pocket as Lou kicks at a rock on the ground, booting it down the cold depths of the alley before the brunette finally draws her attention back, “what are we even talking about Lou?”

The blonde throws her hands up in the air, a bitter laugh escaping her throat, “what the fuck are we ever talking about?” Her hands come up to cover her face as she sighs hard and heavy, “I feel like we’re going to go round and round with this until were grey haired cons, trying to rig the pill hand outs at the home.” 

Debbie does what she feels she’s been doing for the last hour and holds back on her first instinct because she knows exactly what Lou means and there’s no sense in pretending she doesn't. No use trying to con a con. 

Debbie looks toward her shoes, hair falling forward. “Maybe this whole thing is just a terrible idea.”

“What? The Toussaint?” Theres a certain softness now, a confusion to Lous voice that makes Debbie regret starting any of this at all.

“No. You and me and Toussaint.” 

Lou shakes her head in confusion, “Just a few weeks ago, you were in my car practically begging me-“

“I didn’t beg.”

“Really?” Lou looks at Debbie incredulously. Nows not the time for pride. 

“I just mean - fuck, Lou. I don’t even know how to talk to you about any of this.”

Lou can feel her own heart break at that. As if there’s a cracking happening in both of them and between them.

“So, what? You don’t want to try?”

She’s met by silence. They suddenly seem very far away from each other.

Lou tries again, “Deb.”

“Maybe I just need space.” She looks up as Lou’s eyes close, “just for awhile. When everything over.”

A beat passes and though it certainly isn't, Debbie thinks this is the longest silence she’s ever been in but then Lou speaks, “No.” Its confident, hard. Resolute.

“What?”

“No, Debbie.”

Suddenly Lou is slowly coming toward her. They’re just a foot apart when she opens her mouth, “I know that you want to run and hide. I do. I’ve felt that way one hundred times. But you can’t keep doing it because at some point, you always have to come back,” she grabs Debbie's hand “Life is inevitable that way. I don’t care if it’s tomorrow or in a month but you have to talk to me. I am your partner, have been for the last - god knows, too many fucking years, and I’m not letting you do this again. For you,” she brings Debbie's hand up to her mouth and the brunette thinks her heart just may very well stop, “and for me.” She presses a light kiss to her knuckles before she lets her hand go softly and takes a step back. 

Debbie just looks at her before she’s able to open her mouth, “Lou-“

“You’ve had five years, eight months and twelve days of space. That’s enough.”

And she’s right. It was enough.


	7. Chapter Seven

“After,” Debbie tells her. After the heist, that’s when they’ll talk. And well, Lou thinks, it’s been a dozen or so years - she can wait an extra day or two. So they get in a cab and sit on separate sides of the backseat staying mostly silent. They don’t share more than a glance when Frank Sinatra’s “That’s Life” comes on because Debbie knows that Lou loves Frank and well, she’s come to love him for that. When they get back to the loft only one of the girls is back and it’s Amita, working on something silently in one of the many rooms. They’re both kind of thankful for that.

Debbie goes to the fridge and Lou makes her way past to the stairs with a two finger salute and a smile. Usually Debbie would wonder why she isn’t getting more, a verbal goodnight, a 10 minute riff about some dumb thing from their day. But the smile is sincere and a little knowing so she makes an exception and finds herself a chilled beer before making her way up to her own room. The room is dark, cold and empty. The bed is even worse. Lou had been sure to get her a mattress that was comfortable and just a tad firm because she knows that Debbie's back aches when she sleeps on something too soft. But it feels too big.

She looks at the time on her phone. Lou is probably still awake. She could go to her. But then again, maybe she doesn't want her to? It’s not like they’d had a breeze of a day and Debbie, she was the one who left things open ended and then she’s going to what? Show up to cuddle? Sure thing Ocean, sounds completely rational. But before she can even reason why that’s absurd she’s up and out of bed. She hoovers outside Lou’s door. She doesn’t think there’s a light on and she can hear nothing from the other side of it. When she pushes the door open, light from the hall floods into the darkened room and up Lou’s bed. 

The blonde shifts just slightly and blinks in to the light. Illuminated in her doorway is Debbie. She’s not surprised. She’s not disappointed. 

“Can I?” Debbie calls softly from the doorway.

“Of course,” comes Lou’s quiet, sleepy reply as she runs a hand over the empty spot next to her. 

When Debbie closes the door, the room is encased in total darkness but neither of them makes a move to do anything about it and Debbie finds her way effortlessly, noiselessly. She picks up the edge of the cool, silky sheet in her hand and pulls the sheets back before settling in. She’s not even planning to say something, not really. Her eyes are just closing as Lou’s voice comes, deep with sleep but barely above a whisper.

“You scared?”

“You going to tell on me if I am?”

“Have I ever broken your trust?” Light, teasing. But somehow, a stab in Debbie's heart. Because no, Lou never has. But Debbie sure has broken hers.

“No. And yes. Yes, I am”

She can hear Lou shifting, the sheets rustling and the mattress dipping lower near her. Suddenly there’s a light pressure on her hip. Lou’s hand. They’re both thankful for the darkness. She can tell that Lou is just testing the waters, ready to pull away at any moment so Debbie reaches a hand down and skims her fingers lightly over the skin of her partner’s hand. She works her way, so lightly that she thinks she feels the blond shiver, up her long, thin arm. It’s all the reassurance that Lou needs to stretch her arm across Debbie's lower stomach. The weight of her is calming yet so exhilarating, she’s not sure if she should close her eyes and relish in the safe feeling and sleep for 12 hours or turn onto her hip and ravish her. So she savours it, grasping Lou’s forearm as the blonde settles. Her face, her chest, it’s all still a few inches away, safe on her own pillow but Debbie is glad for this. And Lou, her eyes are closed, thumb stroking over her partner, thanking a God she’s not sure she believes in that she has another chance to live this moment. Even if this is all she gets. 

“Deb,” Lou’s voice and breath meets Debbie's ear and neck in a way that makes her shiver, something she can’t hide, “I know there’s nothing I can say that will change the way you feel but I want you to know I’m completely confident in you.”

It takes Debbie a moment to realize what they’re even talking about and then she remembers that it’s only been a few seconds since they were talking about the heist. “That’s why you’re my partner.”

Debbie knows that Lou won’t close the gap. She’s done all anyone can expect her to. So she shifts herself, shimmies her hips just a few inches closer until her hip bumps into the soft skin of Lou’s stomach where she’s laying on her side and her forehead and chin fit perfectly into the crook of Debbie's neck. They’re both in the midst of wondering how they’ll fall asleep like this, wrapped in each other after years of pretending they didn’t want to be when miraculously, they do. 

The alarm goes off at 6:30am, a rising sound that comes up gently and neither of them wakes with a particular start. When Lou opens her eyes, Debbie is there, intently focused on her. They’re mere inches from each other’s face. But before she can really figure out why Debbie is there, how close she is and how she feels about it, she remembers what day it is. The Met Gala. Lou is swept by a feeling that she’s come to know all too well. A sweeping of hurt, a twinge of regret. People thought that Claude Becker was the thing that kept them apart, it’s the stamp over the file called “Debbie & Lou’s Rough Patch” but that’s only because no one really knows how far back things go. That really the thing is not Claude Becker at all but a man named, Mason. 

He’d helped them run a few jobs and he’d liked Debbie from the start. It wasn’t all that suspicious to Lou, men rarely liked her, only felt intimidated by her so she left Debbie to do most of their dealings. She trusted her. Lou was even in on the job. But there was a late night meeting, one she didn’t make it to because she’d been out helping Danny, Debbie’s own goddamn brother. When she got home that night, the lights were low, the apartment was silent but Debbie was there, sitting motionless on the couch. Lou had tried to call to her, ask her how her day was. But when a reply didn’t come she made her way around the front of the couch and settled herself gently on the coffee table. She noticed in an instant that Debbie, calm and collected Debbie’s, cheeks were tear stained. Her mascara running. When Lou reached for her, she was surprised at the way Debbie clutched her hands tightly, her brown eyes finding Lou’s blue, a little wild, a little desperate.

Despite a crack from a broken sob, she got her words out. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

It took her a moment before the words fell out, a flow of the heart breaking, the unbelievable, the despicable. Lou felt her stomach clench and the vomit rise in her throat. But Debbie held firm as she tried to break away so Lou did something she’d never expected to, she screamed at Deborah Ocean. It was the longest night either of them had ever lived. All Lou wanted to do was pack and run but there was so much confusion wrapped in the betrayal, she couldn’t spare herself the explanation though it wasn’t much of anything. Because really, Debbie said, it just happened. And years later, Lou knows that in a lot of ways she gets it. They were young, so fucking young and goddamn stupid. They were something but as far as words and titles were concerned, they were nothing. Everything they thought they were and everything they expected to be was built on conversations they never had. They were afraid to fuck it all up, they were afraid of what would happen if they didn’t. Fear, fear, fear. So Debbie gave them both an out. And Lou admits, she took it. She didn’t try to come back. 

But then they get back as a team and the whole Claude thing happens and once again, she feels that she doesn’t really have a right to be angry but she is, she is so, so fucking angry. With herself for caring and with Debbie because she’s not a bad person and she doesn’t ever do anything to hurt anyone on purpose but fuck is she good at it. And Lou knows she’s not making excuses because for a long time, she felt that she did. When her and Debbie weren’t really talking but her heart still belonged to her and people would ask what happened, Lou would find herself sugar coating, defending Debbie before anyone said she was wrong for doing what she did. Then as the years passed and she softened, admitted Debbie’s mistakes but also her own, people told her what she already knew: they were young, they were confused and they weren’t ready. Regardless, it makes everything enormously worse with Claude than it should be. 

It’s all of this. The past, the present, the love and the hurt that has Lou staring into the eyes of the woman she adores most in this world not knowing if it’s better for her heart to reach out and touch or roll over and away. So she closes her eyes and breaths. Just a moment later a hand skims through her bangs and scratches over her scalp lightly, delightfully. Then Debbie’s voice saying Lou’s name breaks through the silence of the dark room and it both startles and calms Lou because she hadn’t been expecting it but it sounds older than the young, broken woman she’s imagining. The person she’s holding Debbie to, a woman she knows that her partner isn’t anymore. So she just hums a small reply and doesn’t open her eyes.

“It’s the day.” Debbie says softly and runs a finger down Lou’s temple, to her jaw. When it touches her lips, tracing the plump bottom, Lou feels for a second that she might cry. “Lou?”

She opens her eyes and Debbie’s brown orbs are before her, swimming with unshed tears. Lou says nothing as Debbie mouths two small words, “I’m sorry.”

The blonde can’t help as her eyes close for just a second, letting the words wash over her. She opens them again and nods her head against the cool fabric of her pillow, “I know, baby.” 

Debbie’s hand moves along Lou’s jaw as she props herself up lightly. Her eyes ask the question and Lou barely nods before her partner’s lips meet hers gently. Lou’s hand snakes up lightly to Debbie’s hip and ghosts up to her ribs as she moves her lips against Debbie’s so slowly it’s painful. It’s over before it can really become anything and Debbie rests her forehead against Lou’s, eyes closed.

“We’re going to talk when this is over.” 

Lou only nods her head, a small movement against her partner’s head, their noses rubbing together. Then Debbie lowers herself back to her side of the bed, nearly curled up into Lou. The blonde can’t help but turn and lay a long kiss on her forehead before she speaks, “close your eyes again. I’ll bring up coffee when it’s ready.”

So Debbie does as she’s told and closes her eyes as Lou slides through the sheets and to the edge of the bed. When she closes the door behind her, she exhales a large woosh of air she didn’t realize she was holding in and notices it feels that a pressure is gone from her shoulders, settling into her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I had to do it to em. Whoever commented "you're doing great, sweetie." - I love you. Thank you, thank you, you all make me feel very appreciated.


	8. Chapter Eight

And just like that, it’s over. Years of planning, weeks of assembling, days of smoothing things over, hours of worrying and then - nothing. Of course there are still things that need to be done. The jewels need to be sold off, the inevitable investigation with John Frazier will need to be sorted, Claude needs to take the fall and the rest of the jewels need to be distributed. But it all has to wait. With some things, they need to move all too quickly, with others, all too slowly. A mix of the high stakes, fast paced and the agonizingly slow waiting games. Tonight, they celebrate a victory they’re not entirely sure they’ve won yet. 

Amita, Constance and Nine Ball are still at the Gala. The three youngest of the group will drag the experience out for all it is. Rose is still there too but she’s attached at Daphnes hip and won’t be coming back to the loft anyways. So Debbie, Lou and Tammy all slip out of different entrances and into separate cabs, crashing head first from the post heist high, finally feeling their tired feet and exhausted brains. When they meet back at the entrance of the loft, they exchange weary smiles and sly eyebrow raises. They did it. They really fucking did it. They clink beers in the kitchen and fall into a comfortable silence. Three old friends who thought they’d seen the last of their days together as the mysterious, mischievous and criminal three musketeers. When Debbie glances up she notices Tammy’s perfectly manicured finger nails picking at the label on her brown bottle, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth.

“Tam?”

Her eyes shoot up, wide and somehow already apologetic, “yeah?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says all too quickly before she meets Lou’s questioning, knowing gaze, shoulders finally sagging. “I just miss my babies. I wish I’d been able to get home to them tonight.”

“You’ll see them soon.”

She nods, “I know,” and takes another swig, “I hope so.”

Lou is closest to her and slings an arm around her shoulders, “Tammy, you will.” She says resolutely. 

“We’ve pulled everything off flawlessly, thanks to you.” Debbie takes a step closer and rests a hand over Tammys arm where they’re crossed over her stomach, “you’re going to go home to those babies and you’ll never think of this again. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“And might I add,” Lou begins, squeezing Tammys shoulder affectionately, “you did it all looking absolutely fucking fantastic, my dear.” 

Tammy finally smiles, nodding her head before running a hand over her tired eyes. They all finish their beers, laid over couches in dresses and one fabulous suit that they’ll have to zip into black bags and probably burn, reminiscing on days of smaller jobs and much bigger mistakes. Finally, tired and a little emotional, Tammy excuses herself to go to bed. When the door to her room closes softly, Lou looks to her partner. They stay like that for awhile, eyes locked, soft and full of relief.

“Can I tell you something?” Lou finally says and her voice sounds like she’s about to say something that will make Debbie's heart flutter. Her stomach drops a little as she offers a small nod. 

“You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Debbie Ocean,” Lou’s eyes are penetrating as the words wash over Deb, a smile spreading over her face, a warmth building in her belly when Lou continues, “but you look god awful as a blonde.” 

Debbie chokes on her beer as she tries to not to spit with laugher, reaching over to where Lou’s legs spread out toward the coffee table and smacks her on the thigh. She reaches over to deliver another blow when Lou grabs her hand, “Hey! I was giving you a compliment and now you’re going to assault me? Some kind of partner you are!”

Debbie finally swallows, pulling her hand back, “yeah, a compliment wrapped in an insult, Miller, that’s not how those are supposed to work.”

“I’m merely saying, if you took the wig off, I could really appreciate you in your fine form.”

“Fine,” Debbie concedes, rolling her eyes, “help me?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Debbie and Lou both shift as Debbie slips the blonde wig from her head, scooting back until her hip bumps Lou’s knee. Her partner reaches up and begins removing the tens of hair clips and bobby pins shoved into her dark hair. She winces as her hair pulls with one of the clips and hears Lou mutter an apology. When the last of them are settled into a pile on the coffee table, Lou runs her fingers through the kinked and curled hair, fingertips massaging over Debbie's sore scalp. A contented sigh passes through the brunettes lips as she revels in the feel of her partners skilled, gentle fingers against her skin. She nearly melts when she feels the fingers press into the tops of her shoulders, tense and hard.

“You’ve always carried your tension in your neck,” Lou’s thumb strokes a path down a tendon from Debbie's ear to her shoulder, “and your shoulders,” her breath hits Deb’s ear in a low whisper, “you need to relax.”

The words, the touches, its all a little too much as heat pools between Debbie's legs. 

“I can think of a few ways to relieve some tension,” Deb tries, her voice low but teasing. 

“I’m sure you can.” Lou leans her head down and grazes her teeth over Debbie’s bare shoulder before pulling away with a wicked smile that her partner can’t see but can picture perfectly.

“You’re playing with fire, Lou.”

“Huh, that’s why your so hot?”

They both laugh as Debbie moves, turning to face Lou, “take me to bed?”

Lou swallows and nods. When she stands, she extends her hand to Debbie who grabs it softly and allows herself to be pulled to her feet. They find themselves in Lou’s bedroom which has somehow become the natural place for them to share a bed. Probably because Lou’s is more worn and comfortable and because if anyone should be going to anyone, it’s Debbie who should be bending herself out of shape to be with Lou. She knows that. The blonde ventures into the bathroom, plucking cleansers and moisturizers out of a cabinet while Debbie shimmies herself out of her dress. Plucking a vintage “Blondie” concert t-shirt from Lou’s drawer feels too natural, too comfortable for Debbie who tries not to think too hard about it as she pulls it over her shoulders and down around her waist. 

When she meets Lou in the bathroom, it’s her turn to swallow a lump in her throat. It’s in these moments that Debbie has to try hard not to crumble in on herself, to punish herself in exile until the end of time. Because watching Lou wipe her eyeliner away, to see her vulnerable and bare, is the most heartbreaking thing she ever does. It’s when she feels just how deeply she’s messed up. She feels it’s wrong to be given the chance to see this magnificent creature for exactly who she is, to have her on her side, willing to share a bed and conversations about the future, when she’s done nothing to deserve it. When she thinks of Lou’s family and the way they threw her aside, Debbie wants to sob and to tell Lou that she deserves more than anyone can ever give her. She also feels who she is now. A woman who has everything she’s been planning for 5 years, a woman who had 5 years to work through a lifetime of bullshit, who was forced to analyze her every thought and feeling. She know’s she is someone that could be deserving of love. Someone who could show Lou why everything that her family did and everything that she herself had ever done in the past was so deeply and profoundly wrong and fucked up. She could show her how she deserved to be loved. 

So she goes to her, wraps her arms around her partners middle, resting her open palms over her ribs and stomach, cheek resting against the rough, green fabric over Lou’s back. The blonde stops what she’s doing, drops the damp cloth on the counter in front of her, covers her partners hands with her own and says nothing. The V of her open suit jacket is deep and Debbie’s hand glides lightly over the lapel before dipping in, feeling first the soft skin between Lou’s breasts, before she grazes over her entire breast, Lou’s nipple brushing over the centre of her palm before she settles it higher over her heart. It beats into her hand, quick and incessant. 

“Relax,” Debbie whispers into Lou’s shoulder. Her partner shivers in her arms, shoulders easing with a deep breath before Debbie pulls her arms away slowly and moves to fit herself between Lou and the sink. She plucks the damp cloth from the counter and looks up into the half washed face of her partner. If she wasn’t so fucking ready to love Lou the way she needs to be loved, the slight sadness in her hopeful eyes might’ve broken her. 

“Let me,” Deb whispers and her hot breath works over Lou’s lip. She pulls herself up on the counter and grasps at Lou’s waist, pulling her between her legs before running the cloth over her cheek.

If she didn’t know Lou so well, she might be worried. One would think the blonde would have a quip, an insistence that she was capable of doing it herself. But Debbie know’s how she can be, the way she quiets under soft affection, never quite sure what to say or do but happy to receive it. She allows her eyes to flutter close and watches Debbie's eyes intently when she finishes up, working moisturizer over her skin. When it’s all said and done, they stay like that, Lou’s hands gripping Debbie's thighs.

“Deb?”

“Mhm?” Debbie's hand comes to rest gently over Lou’s pale cheek, a thumb stroking gently. 

“This has been quite possibly the most exhausting day of my life,” she starts quietly, with a slight chuckle, “so right now, I don’t really want to talk about things.”

Debbie swallows and nods in understanding before her partner continues, “but I want you to know, before we do, that I’m going into this with a willingness to fight for us.” Her blue eyes fall to where her fingers are gripping Debbie’s bare thighs, “I don’t know what it would look like or what it means but I want to be with you.”

When she looks up, with Debbie's hand still on her cheek, she’s not too surprised to find Debbie slowly leaning toward her. Their lips meet. Lou’s hands move from Debbie’s thighs to her hips and the brunette feels something crack in her chest at the desperation of her partners fingers. So she meets it, her hand working into the hair at the back of the other womans head, her other hand cupping her jaw as she opens her mouth to make sure Lou feels her. Feels every bit of her and her own desperation for her partner. Their bodies are suddenly completely melded as Lou grabs at what she can reach of Deb’s bottom. The brunette wraps her legs around her partner, feeling the roughness of the green sequins on the inside of her thighs and the mounting pressure between her legs as she moves slowly against Lou. She can’t help the gasp that she breaths into Lou’s mouth when she feels herself being grasped and lifted as Lou hoists her around her hips and carries her out of the bathroom. Debbie's back meets the bed where Lou drops her and her fingers quickly fly to the green lapels of her partners jacket, pulling her down as she settles a knee between her legs and hovers over her. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Debbie breaths before she grazes Lou’s bottom lip with her teeth, “the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.” 

The blonde settles between her legs, on top of her and rocks against her slowly, “don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she whispers breathlessly. 

Debbie’s eyebrows quirk together, her face screwing up in slight shock and sadness but she knows she deserves at least that much, she know’s she’ll have to spend time easing worries and concerns that she planted all those years ago, “I mean it,” she breathes over Lou’s lips, “I mean every fucking word of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL you guys, no joke, at the end of this I said "damn" to myself. Like I got myself with this shit. I love how much you guys love this story, leave your kudos and comments as always!

**Author's Note:**

> I love all the fluff pieces coming from this movie and the gay, gay works of art that everyone is creating. There is a depth that I want to explore though because as humans who have experienced relationships, we all know it can be incredibly hard to build or rebuild something when you have such a long history that hasn’t always been bright. This will be my take on their experiences and conflicting emotions. I’ll write as long as you’ll have me for and as long as your comments keep me going. Enjoy!


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